A Meeting In The Midnight Hour
by TheLaughingMan1
Summary: ArMor. A small confession late at night could lead to a shining future or complete destruction. Can destiny be changed? Or is this just an alternate path to the same end? Neither knew, but they were both willing to try. Will that be enough?


Author's Note: Just a little one shot that was buzzing around in my head. If anyone wants to adopt the idea and take it farther then just ask. I will need an example of your writing skill, so you must have posted at least one story here.

Disclaimer: I do not own the television show Merlin or it's characters, it belongs to BBC, Syfy, and whoever else owns a piece of it. I am not making any money or form of currency off of this humble piece of fanfiction. It's only for the purpose of amusement.

Arthur stood at the window, looking out at the night darkened courtyard with his hands clasped behind his back. Sometimes, he savored these silent moments in the middle of the night when the castle slept. It allowed him to brood and meditate on recent happenings so that he could spot his past mistakes and gain wisdom by learning from them. Not tonight, however. Tonight, he hated the silence and the complete lack of anything distracting. Nightmares awoke him earlier, not the usual ones about the attacks he had led, but THE nightmare, the worst one of them all that he knew he would never be rid of and to be honest he wasn't sure he wanted to. That time of his life had been bittersweet in the most extreme meaning of the word. The highest and lowest times of his life.

He was eighteen now, of age according to the ancient laws, but for the longest time he had been a boy, with a boy's foolishness and complete lack of foresight. Morgana had been the same as she was now, though warmer, more innocent, and sometimes needy. He missed being needed by her, missed how he once was her only confidant and the person she turned to when she needed comfort or advice. To understand them then, one needed to consider both of their positions and the past which even now bound them together like iron chains. Once upon a time, Morgana was his best friend and the only girl he cared about. He was barely into his teenage years at the time, nearing fourteen and so stupidly reckless that it bore mentioning.

All he had known was that Morgana was a girl, a very pretty girl whom he had known all of his life and with whom he shared every secret. That she would be married off one day had been a point of dread and even panic at times. It was only natural that he grew to love her and she him, considering that age and their close relationship, but they had been so stupid about it. They gave way to the weight of their hormones, were weak, and coupled frequently. In Arthur's mind, he had solved the problem of Morgana's future marriage: he would marry her instead of some old man from a country he'd never heard of. Morgana had been very taken by the idea, sixteen years old with her mind in the clouds and no sense of the tragedy that was to come due to their actions. All that mattered to them was that they were in love and that one happy day they would sit side by side as King Arthur and Queen Morgana of Camelot.

However, that bliss soon brought serious complications. Morgana had confessed that she was pregnant to him, a possibility that had never really been considered in their zealous lovemaking and romantic escapades. Suddenly, reality crashed down on them with a vengeance followed by the pressures they had previously been numb to. Uther had to be told, he was doubly important since he was not only Arthur's father but Morgana's guardian as well. They had foolishly considered their promise of marriage to one another to be as good as the vows themselves, that they had plenty of time before their inevitable announcement. Still being children in mind, they had put that particular announcement to the King off for as long as they could possibly get away with. Months of secrecy, lies, and intrigue followed. Morgana had excelled at such deception, weaving excuses and idle manipulations so masterfully that no one doubted her or even considered the truth until it was time for birth.

With Morgana in labor, Gaius tending to her as best he could, and an ignorant Uther waiting for an explanation, it fell to Arthur to inform his father of the situation, reasons for it, and taking the brunt of his father's wrath alone without Morgana there to match wits with Uther using calculated words, well thought out arguments, or to give the Prince the courage he felt he needed to deal with his father. What followed his announcement to his father was the most brutal beating that Arthur had ever taken. It was shock that had kept him from fighting back at first, that and concern for Morgana's worryingly difficult pregnancy. Uther had never once struck Arthur in anger before that moment, but after having foolishly shamed Morgana with laying with her before marriage, he had taken the beating ashamed that he hadn't considered how it could harm her reputation, how it could hurt her.

Beaten, bruised, and bloody, Arthur had managed to stagger back to Morgana and was dealt another blow. The blow that destroyed them both, devastating them in a way that could never fully be repaired: their baby son was a stillborn, dying moments after Gaius inspected him. Uther had ordered the child buried under a nameless stone, not wanting the 'scandal' to destroy the reputation of Camelot or the Pendragon name. The worst thing of all? They had let him, no, Arthur had let him do so. He never forgave himself for that, feeling as though he betrayed his dead son by denying him his birthright or even a name for the marker. All Arthur remembered of that time was pain, tears, and guilt, a poisonous cocktail of the worst emotions. He vaguely remembered raging, screaming, crying, and attacking the walls with his fists, hoping the pain would take his mind off of the awful feeling in his heart.

Morgana had been stunned numb, nearly catatonic and completely silent. She just sort of stared into space, blinking vacantly as she laid unmoving in her bed. Arthur had visited her, held her to him as he apologized over and over again. She never said a word, but when it was just the two of them they would cry together, never saying anything. They never made love or even kissed again after that, certain that another loss would destroy them both utterly. When Morgana came to, she just went on as if nothing had ever happened. No child, no relationship, they were back to what they were as children: petty, sarcastic, antagonistic with a hint of love. No tender words passed their lips about the love they had shared, that they still shared, but sometimes they would stop and gaze into one another's eyes before turning away shamefully. Too much had happened, too much self-loathing, resentment, and fear kept them apart even unto this night.

"Arthur? Are you still awake?" Morgana's voice asked softly, a light rapping on his door that pulled him from the abyss of his memories. It didn't suprise him that she was awake, her nightmares often woke her.

"Yes." Arthur stated just as softly, not doing more than turning his head toward the door. Normally, he would make some quip about visiting a man's bedchambers at the current hour, but with just the two of them it was tasteless at best. Neither were up for their usual battle of wit at the current time of the night. He heard the door creak as she opened it and stepped through, closing it behind her and he made a note to have his new manservant Merlin oil the hinges tomorrow. He sensed her walk up behind him, but he never turned toward her or moved to a less vulnerable area. As Crowned Prince, he should never leave his back open to anyone be they friend or foe, but Morgana, well he trusted her enough to not worry. Besides, if she decided to kill he might just let her. She most certainly had justice on her side in his opinion.

"Are you well? That dagger came close tonight." Morgana made idle chit chat, stalling for whatever reason. He knew the real reason she had come to his chambers so late in the evening, it was the same reason why he was still awake: nightmares. He felt her trembling hand rest on his right shoulder as she came to stand beside him, shaking no matter how much she tried to hide it, but he made no comment on it. These quiet nights required no words between them. Just having the other there brought a sense of comfort and understanding deeper than any word.

"I'm fine." Arthur replied shortly, the old favorite falling from his mouth without thought. Like her, he was much too proud to ever admit if he was hurting or anything less than stalwart, but he honestly didn't know why he bothered with the lie around her. She could read him easier than she could a book, knowing him inside and out. Words were never spoken between them, the silence speaking more than an epic poem could ever describe.

"Are you? Are you really?" She pressed him, her shoulder brushing against his in a silent request that he could never deny. He raised up his arm and wrapped it around her shoulders, tucking her safely up against him. Her usual sassiness was gone, now she was merely thoughtful and was made even more mysterious to him because of it. As well as she knew him, whenever she was being like this not even he understood her motivations. Angry Morgana, he understood, frightened Morgana, he understood, thoughtful Morgana he had no clue how to deal with, so he remained quiet to keep from saying anything foolish that could destroy these few moments they still shared. These moments were mere embers of what they had once shared and in a way served as a sort of mourning, a tribute to what they had both once treasured.

"The dagger missed me." Arthur said lightly with a small smile of comfort, keeping up the pretense that they were still discussing the assassination attempt on his life just that evening. He felt her toying with his hand, her fingers inspecting his own before she threaded them together in a clasp that brought back wonderful memories of doing the same as they basked in their love. Heartsickness hit him, for with the good also came the bad. Nevertheless, his grip tightened on her hand. He needed that contact to prevent himself from drowning in the memories.

"That's not what I was talking about." Her voice, usually so strong and firm, was low and shaky as if she was trembling. He sighed, pulling her even closer to his side in shared pain and he rested his chin on the top of her head. The sweet jasmine scent of her perfumed hair and the unique additive of her own unique smell soothed him, his mind having always related that special smell to comfort and love even after not sharing a bed together for years.

"I know." He admitted tightly, nodding his head repeatedly as he inhaled her scent as if it alone could take the pain away. His knees felt disturbingly rubbery and he wanted to sit down badly, but he wouldn't give up their contact for something so insignificant. He didn't need a chair, he needed Morgana close to him. "I saw him again. In my nightmare. He's always there when I sleep now...asking me why and, and I can't answer no matter how hard I try."

"I still have some of the sleeping potion Gaius gave me if you would like some?" Morgana offered, just a moment after a quick inhale of rare sympathy. Her grip tightened on his hand while her other arm wrapped about his waist with her fingernails digging into the soft flesh of his lower back through his threadbare nightshirt. He shuddered, goosebumps rising at the contact.

"No. I hate these dreams, but I need them. I need to see..." He trailed off, throat tightening to prevent the words from slipping out. He felt her nod against his chest, understanding what he meant without another word being needed. They were silent for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts. "It's always like this at this time of year. Tomorrow will be the...anniversary and I, I need you there with me...please?"

"Of course." She assured him, her voice quiet and full of sympathy. He didn't look down even as he felt something wet soak through his nightshirt. Morgana was crying, but he wouldn't look down at her or even mention it. She hated weakness, hated being seen when she was weak so he remained quiet as always, never commenting on it. It was something that they shared, their respect for one another and their loss. On these nights there were no games, no quips, no barbs, no attempts to be who they were before, no schemes, not even a hint of pride. Tonight, they were not the Crown Prince and the King's Ward. Just Arthur and Morgana, Morgana and Arthur, united in past and pain. He was moderately surprised that she had accepted. They hadn't gone to the nameless marker of their son together since the first time, preferring to mourn and remember in their own ways.

"Thank you." His voice was full of his gratitude, even as he blinked back the stubborn stinging of his eyes. Bloody dust, he'd make Merlin scrub the entire room tomorrow while he was away with Morgana. Lord knows the clumsy beanpole needed something to keep him out of trouble. "Do you ever hate Father?"

"Sometimes, more than life itself." Morgana admitted, uncaring if her words could be construed as treason or not. There was venom in her voice, the product of years of resentment having festered and grown like an infection. They never had to mention why they felt that way. "I hate having to sit in his presence every day as he acts as if nothing ever happened. As if our child was never born, not even allowed the dignity of a name. Sometimes I want him to suffer like no man before him, other times I just want him away from me."

"Me too." He breathed it out, never having said those words before. He felt her freeze, never having heard the sad words fall from his mouth before. He wanted to respect his father, wanted to love and trust the man he admired more than anything, but always there was a voice in the back of his mind that sounded like a child reminding him of his father's sins against him and the haunting crimes Arthur had in turn committed in his father's name. "Morgana, would you promise me something?"

"What is it?" She asked, her voice curious despite the emotions in it. He paused, gathering the quickly failing courage that he needed. A strange sense of displacement came over him, as if his next words would decide something important that he couldn't imagine. He needed to say the words badly, to hell with his pride, to hell with his fear, to hell with himself, he had to say them, but they choked up in his throat even as his internal demons massed against him throwing doubts to the forefront of his mind. He wanted to say them, but he was terrified to do so. They could change everything for the better or make it all far worse. Arthur focused on his determination, fiercely fighting back any doubts he had so that he could just get the damned words out.

"I have been thinking on this for a long while now and what happened tonight only served to drive home certain truths that I've been avoiding. For years we've been tiptoeing around one another, one minute you are my worst enemy, another my best friend, and sometimes you just look at me and I see who were." He stopped, realizing he was nearly babbling and wasn't quite getting out what he wanted to say. He gathered his thoughts and looked down into her oddly soft yet almost frightened green eyes, suddenly realizing she felt nearly as afraid as he was. When he spoke next, his words were lower and calmer. "Promise me that we will always trust one another, no matter the secret let us promise that we will always be there for one another. I know we may not be able to be who were once were together, but let's just be something to one another again, anything other than what we are now."

Morgana was silent. Her eyes were shining oddly, a multitude of confusion and conflicted emotions that he couldn't understand or recognize. She was trembling, her mouth opening and closing slightly as if starting to say something but cutting herself off. Finally, her face was forced into the familiar expression of calm she used whenever something unfamiliar happened. It was always her response when she was stressed or overcome. Well, either that or stabbing someone with a sword, namely Arthur. "I promise, Arthur."

"Good. That's very, urm, good." Arthur stammered with a relieved smile, trying to school his face unsuccessfully in a mirror of Morgana's mask of calm dignity. He couldn't see the happy grin on her face from where she buried her face into his shoulder in a hug. "Well, it's very late so I suppose I'll walk you back to your chambers now."

"Actually, I'd like to stay here tonight." Morgana told him, then realized how that might sound. She definitely wasn't going to come across as too needy or too quick to accept him back. As much as she liked Arthur and intended to trust him more from now on, things were not going to go that quickly this time. She was older, they were older now and had more control over themselves. Besides, she couldn't make it that easy for him. "But you are sleeping on the floor."

"The bloody hell I will. I'm the Crowned Prince of Camelot, you are not throwing me out of my own bed." Arthur stated immediately, stepping back from her and crossing his arms defiantly across his chest. It would have been more impressive if he was wasn't in his sleeping attire. Arthur seemed to realize this as he glanced down at himself. "I will put some trousers on and we will sleep in the bed together with you under the covers and me on top of them."

"Oh, very well." Morgana relented with a sigh, hiding how pleased she was. "I had better not wake to find you with all of the blankets wrapped around you again, either."

"Those are my blankets, I'll hog them if I want!" Arthur defended, a grin breaking out on his face since her back was turned to him as she walked over to the bed. "Besides, you're just jealous because you want to have them all to yourself."

"Oh, my dastardly plan is foiled. Woe to me." Morgana quipped sarcastically, more out of habit than anything. "Really Arthur, where do you get these ideas?"

Arthur smiled at her when she turned around with a challenging smirk on her face. He didn't know what the future held, but he knew he wouldn't face it alone. All he could do was his best and hope that was enough. Maybe it would be this time.

Maybe.


End file.
